Structured freedom

My mess is no longer charmingly wretched. You know, I can appreciate an ensemble of mis-matched socks, a shirt randomly picked- so big it hugs the bum (who needs pants), arms holding more coffees than they can carry, inky words on skin left from the previous night. At that point, it’s still workable; this person is open to the world, teetering off it a little bit, taking things as they come. Spontaneous, slap-dash, still-okay.

I, on the other hand, have to get my shit together. Throwing away receipts and rubbish the moment it’s generated will save me an hour at that end of the week when I have to dump the stack that has accumulated in my bag and look for wrappers scattered around the room. At the very least, the mess I create is confined to my side of the room… My room-mate is another can of beans. Still, my clutter has finally gotten out of hand and I’m not comfortable in/ with it. I’m going to change. By the end of this year, I will be much more organized and the people who have known me before university will be pleasantly surprised. I’ve always been clumsy, slightly late to meetings and such, oblivious to dates (I make educated guesses), and half-way prepared. In other words: fluid, go-with-the-flow, spontaneous. I don’t need things to be exact unless I’m forced to- when the situation demands it. I prefer dribbles, splatters and expressive strokes over squares and marks made with rulers. But people can change. I can be free spirited yet find ways to prioritise what is important. I don’t use ‘free spirited’ as a euphemism for ‘pig’, it’s just that discipline and freedom aren’t easily reconciled.

The real world is annoying because you have to go out of your way to get what you want. You need to search for opportunities because someone else already is, and if you miss them, they’re gone. I cannot afford to drift aimlessly and expect to find my way, even though it seems to have worked thus far. It’s laughable to call me a control freak but this is just stressful.

Make the cut

Hi, I hope we’re still good friends. Because I miss you and I try to reach you but I don’t know if you want me to try.

Staying in touch with people in different countries is so difficult. Even with Skype. When are you free? How can we align our schedules? And then there’s the fact that I don’t have much worth mentioning in my life. Many things are happening but they’re not Big Events. Why would you care unless you were there when I had that momentary problem? And I don’t want to resort to boys as the topic of conversation; there ought to be other things to speak of. I cannot give an exciting summary.

Sometimes, presence is enough. We’re standing side by side on the train, thoughtful. The little things are remembered as we wander through the streets- things that didn’t make the summary. So I bask in the feel of you and remember again why I miss you so.

College beginnings

I’m social then I’m not. I initiate a dinner date with the rest of the floor but decide to go to Target instead. And now the lounge is full of people and laughter echoes down the hallway. My room is a little too quiet. I’m deciding whether or not to go. Should I do something brave and embarrassing and make my way into the room? Or sit in this chair and start editing my clips? Clips.


We’ll exchange names and handshakes. You and I both know that we’ll most probably never speak again.


My room-mate’s Pop-Tarts look delicious. I want one now. Even though she had said that I should feel free to eat her junk, I feel like I’m doing something wrong. I take a little. Then I text her to see if it’s okay. She reassures me that I don’t need to ask. I should’ve just asked first.


The party now study later mentality? No. You sound like an idiot. Just go with the flow? When people insist that this is the way to live, I take a moment to mourn the brain cells that will never recover.


I feel incompetent. I would not be able to cook my own food at this rate, thank God for dining halls. I have only gotten my textbooks- I’m late on readings. I can’t fit in the gym. I can’t keep in touch with all my friends. I can’t edit my videos and sing and compose. I can’t blog. I’m not even doing very much but the days seem too short.


It feels like I’ve only been here for a week. But it’s almost been a month. I still can’t find my way around and I’m late to my classes… Not giving off the best first five impressions.


So I ditched an audition midway through to go see a movie. I lied about why I had to go. Why? Because #priorities. It seems ridiculous to want to see a movie that badly. But that’s not it. I made plans to see the movie first and then the audition time conflicted. I had to make a choice and I chose the commitment I made first! I said I would try and do that- to see my plans through to completion.


I’m feeding a part of myself whilst starving the other. There’s a certain sweetness to sin, a pleasure to pain.
What do I want? I want what I shouldn’t. So what do I want more? What is the truth that I feel in the pit of my being? There is a higher purpose! Restraint, love, and purity are greater ideals.
I swing with an unpredictable rhythm, trying to satisfy both sides of myself; the human and the human that hopes to transcend.

‘No servant can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other…’
– Luke 16:13


I cannot wait to burst through the door, fling my shoes off and give you a hug, dad. To breathe in that particular smell of home and see the vase that mum loves so much to replenish with fresh flowers.
I cannot wait to feel the piano keys beneath my fingers, to play an impromptu duet with you, Leesh. I can’t wait to tell you how much I hate the fact that you’re taller than me now. I want to know: how are the boys? Are you fighting them off you? Are there a line of boyfriends you’re not telling anyone about? How’s school? How are your friends? In fact, let’s call them over for a sleepover. Show me things on your laptop, all the funny memes and copy pastas I know nothing about. Talk to me. Tell me anything. I want to know.
I cannot wait to hold your cats, my wonderful cousins. I will buy you guys pizza and we will watch that movie we said we’d watch. We can bake cookies too.
I want to sit with you on the sofa with my head on your shoulder, Poppy. When you came onto my screen, asking mum if Skype was working, I was surprised by the tears that sprang to my eyes (I now see why the word sprang is so appropriate:  how swift, how unexpected, how inexorable). I was so happy to see you, to tell you I’ve missed you. I want to show you my photos, my videos, the things I have seen. I want to cook with you and roll dough in my hands whilst you pour in the warm, sugar water.
I cannot wait to see you, Alan. It’s been so long! Too bad I can no longer appreciate sliced French sausage or smoked duck breast on top of crisp baguettes. You never look any older each successive time I see you.
I cannot wait to get coffee with you, J. And I cannot wait to sit on your couch since I’m not allowed on your bed. I want to hear about everything. I just want to be there.
I cannot wait to see you, Fee. I want to hear you ramble and I need to hear your outrageous laugh. We need to get high and talk about things.
And still so many more of you, my loves, who I’m dying to see.

Ah, to be able to hold a beer in public and walk along the harbour front the way we like to. To walk into our favourite club and see if our favourite bartenders remember us after our four-month absence. How about the smiley guy who guards the bathroom? The one who always gives us high fives? I do miss him, too.

I cannot wait for New Years Eve. It makes me giddy thinking about it.